


flowers for you

by nygmadaydreams



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Character Death, Crying, Hanahaki Disease, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Murder, One-Sided Attraction, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-03-31 00:03:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19038274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nygmadaydreams/pseuds/nygmadaydreams
Summary: Oswald has caught the Hanahaki Disease.





	flowers for you

**Author's Note:**

> i sobbed like a dying child while thinking of this concept and wrote it in a delirious state at like 4 in the morning, you're welcome

“I. Don’t. Love. You.”

He stared at Oswald in the eye, making sure to say each word as clear as possible. He gripped the gun in his hands at full force, finger tingling to pull the trigger. Oswald looked back at him. His eyes were wide and so full of emotion that Ed could barely take it. They were a storm that was ready to suck everything inside itself. Oswald’s bottom lip quivered, and he raised his hand to grab Edward, but Ed slapped his hand away. He prepared himself for the thrill of shooting the treacherous man before him, but he was interrupted.

The cough was sudden and violent. It took both of them by surprise, and especially Oswald looked startled. He covered his mouth with his hand, looking like he was going to throw up. Ed took a step back – Oswald’s vomit all over his polished shoes was the last thing he wanted from this interaction. The coughing was getting more aggressive. It made Oswald bend towards the ground. And then the petal fell through Oswald’s shaking hands. Ed watched it fall to the pavement, followed by a bunch of more. And blood, god there was so much blood.

“W-what?” Oswald sputtered, unable to contain himself any longer. He raised his head enough to look at Edward. He was clearly scared, horrified even. “What is happening to me?!”

“I don’t know”, Ed said coldly as Oswald continued struggling. He was lying.

Edward had seen a similar thing happen.

_They had gone to investigate a peculiar crime scene on Edward’s third week at his new work. He had still been a little squeamish, so when he had seen the body covered in blood and flowers he had freaked out a little. Bullock had had to almost hold his hand when he was examining the corpse. It had been a gruesome sight, and unlike anything they’d experienced before, at least according to other people in Ed’s forensics team._

_Another similar victim had been found merely a week after. Edward had begun getting increasingly interested by the odd disease. They’d started to examine the cause. It had been named the Hanahaki disease. Apparently it had originated from Japan where this was a growing issue with surprisingly little media coverage. The victim would suffocate in flowers growing in their lungs after a certain period of unrequited love. The only cures as of that point had been surgery or someone returning the patient’s feelings. At first, he had thought it was absolutely ridiculous and not scientific at all._

Until the day he caught it himself.

_It had all started on the day when he had given Kristen Kringle the love poem. He’d stayed up all night finishing it, perfecting every sentence and word, all the rhymes and little riddles within it. He’d given it to her; promised it wouldn’t be weird. And she had been flustered yet looked at him kind of fondly, even if it had been just for a second. And then she had gone ahead and shown the poem to Arnold Flass and his cop buddies. They’d laughed at him. Ridiculed him. He had ran into the men’s bathroom and the first thing he’d managed to do alongside crying was going into a violent coughing fit. He’d fallen to the ground in front of the toilet and thrown up – except it wasn’t vomit but instead numerous yellow begonia petals. They’d been dyed orange with his blood._

_He hadn’t wasted time in getting himself an appointment for a surgery. All he’d had to do was last two months. That was the waiting time. But then a miracle had happened. He had killed Tom Dougherty and won Kristen’s heart. The vomiting had stopped the same day that they shared their first kiss. Everything had been a bliss from that day up until the day he’d killed her. And that night he vomited up petals again, and not only that; full begonias too. He still hadn’t cancelled his surgery, only postponed it. Perhaps deep down he’d known it would come in handy. A three hour surgery was all it had taken to permanently get rid of the disease as well as all feelings he had for Kristen Kringle._

The flower petals at their feet were red, and not only because of the blood that Oswald was coughing up with them. Edward recognized them as red carnations. It certainly was not his favorite flower, but then again he wasn’t sure if it was always the case with the Hanahaki disease. Red carnations, he thought. They symbolized admiration. He remembered reading about flower meanings one boring afternoon at the precinct while examining another similar case. The word-for-word meaning of red carnations; _My heart aches._

Ed was brought back to reality when Oswald grabbed his shoulder, squeezing manically, as if letting go meant his instant death. He looked at the man who was still coughing, trying to make it stop by covering his mouth with a hand – to no avail. Their eyes met. Oswald’s pupils were tiny, the whites of his eyes wide as plates, eyes filled with tears. He looked positively terrified.

“E-Edward”, he tried to say, only to erupt in violent coughs again. Edward didn’t try to catch Oswald when he collapsed on the ground at his feet. He was merely a trembling mess of flowers, tears and blood. Ed furrowed his brows a little; he noticed that while the majority of the flowers were blood red, there were also some yellow petals scattered around the raven-haired man. _Rejection._

“Ed, p-please”, Oswald wheezed and tugged on Edward’s leg, looking up at him with pleading eyes. Even if Ed had wanted to help, he would have not been able to. Oswald’s trembling hands crept up his own chest and throat like it would somehow help him shake of the feeling of suffocating. “Help me”, Oswald begged, violently trembling.

Ed slowly put his gun away and knelt in front of the smaller man. His expression was bland and cold. Oswald looked pale – paler than usual. His eyes were starting to get bloodshot and his bottom lip was quivering. He immediately grabbed Ed’s arm as tight as he could. Ed didn’t shake it off. He just watched his ex-friend before him. He had thought he’d get a rush of _something_ when he’d pull the trigger. He hadn’t expected him to kill Oswald in this fashion. It seemed like his proper, vocalized rejection was enough to put the disease into effect.

“Who said love couldn’t kill?” Edward said quietly. Oswald’s grip was starting to weaken. He was gasping for air like he was drowning, clawing at his throat with his spare hand. Ed noticed how strongly the veins were presenting themselves on Oswald’s neck. They’d pop at any moment.

“Ed”, Oswald whispered with the last few breaths he could fathom. He slumped on the ground on his back, loosing touch of Edward. Ed stared at him as he winced and gasped, tugging on his shirt all of sudden. He ripped the shirt open with the last power he had, and Ed saw what had alerted him. A flower was sprouting from his chest, bursting through the skin and muscle. He looked at Oswald’s face.

The man had lost the fight. His head had lolled to the side, tears still pouring out of his glassy eyes. A flower had grown out of his mouth, filling up his throat. Edward looked at the sight before him, not sure how to feel. He was surprised when he saw Oswald blink. And then he saw the man weakly raising his arm. It was trembling, barely off the ground, so fragile that the tiniest bit of wind could wipe it away. Oswald’s purple lips were moving. Ed could see goosebumps all over his pale, bruised skin.

He didn’t take Oswald’s hand.

That final bit of rejection was all it took. Oswald’s body spasmed once and then stilled. The green eyes were cloudy and dead. Ed stood up and shook the dust off his pants. He gave one final look at Oswald, or what was left of him at least. More flowers had begun growing through his skin, painting it in red. Most of them seemed to circle around his lungs and heart. The sight felt unreal. It was like Ed was in a dream, and not even his own dream. A beautiful, gruesome nightmare. He hesitated before crouching back down and breaking off the flower that was growing out of Oswald’s mouth. He put it in his chest pocket and rose.

“You should have listened to me, Oswald”, he said as he brushed a hand through the flower’s beautiful petals. Drips of blood were shining on it. “For some men, love is a source of strength. But for you and I, it will always be our most crippling weakness.”


End file.
